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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428672">Foster-Child of Silence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/pseuds/palavapeite'>palavapeite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jonathan Strange &amp; Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange &amp; Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brief Mention of Blood, Happy holidays I guess?, M/M, Nobody Dies, Rated T for angst, heavy implication of (terminal) illness, i promise this has a happy ending, minor physical injury, no brewers were harmed in the writing of this fic i swear he doesn't even have a sniffle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:40:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/pseuds/palavapeite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the freezing cold of midwinter, Childermass must get back to Starecross because of what his cards have revealed to him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Childermass/John Segundus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>JSAMN New Year's fanfiction exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Foster-Child of Silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyNarcissus/gifts">GreyNarcissus</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dear GreyNarcissus, you requested "Segundus gets dangerously ill and Childermass has to cope with the pain of being properly helpless for the first time in a while", which... oh no. I am afraid the original concept may have run off with me a little. I do hope you still enjoy this fic regardless. (In any case, I am certain that "hands" are also mentioned several times. They.. uh, definitely have them.) </p><p>Thanks also to Pudentilla(McMoany) for running this fest, and the wonderful, patient people who were so kind to offer comments and advice ahead of posting. &lt;3 Any remaining nonsensicalities are mine and mine alone.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cold was biting into the skin of Childermass’ face as he drove Brewer on down the quickly darkening road. He could make one more village further, one more village before the light was gone and they would have to rest for the night. </p><p>Rest. He was in dire need of it, he knew; he knew also that he was unlikely to find it. </p><p>By the time he slowed Brewer to a halt in front of a roadside inn the sky was black, rain was pelting down, and Childermass handed over his disgruntled horse to an even more disgruntled young man who stepped up to him with a lantern in one hand, happy to take a coin with the other before he grabbed the reins and led Brewer away into the stables at the back of the house. </p><p>“Smells of snow tonight, mark my words,” the old innkeeper who brought his dinner sniffed, and Childermass touched a hand to his coat pocket, to make sure the letter he had received a week ago was still there, safe and dry. </p><p>
  <i>...We have had our first proper snow. I woke up this morning to the moors covered all in white; a sight, I suppose, that will stay with us for the next couple of months. It has come a little earlier than anticipated – at least in such quantities! – and I must expect that it will delay Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Levy’s arrival. As you know, they ought to have come tomorrow, but I daresay I must make my peace with waiting a couple of days longer. It is no matter, of course – all your help and advice during your last visit helped put us all well ahead of schedule with the preparations – but Vinculus seems to prefer the kitchen to my company, and the house has felt rather cold and empty since your departure.  …</i>
</p><p>He should not have left. </p><p>He should not have left, not before Honeyfoot and Levy had arrived. </p><p>Pacing in his room after he had wolfed down his dinner, Childermass tried to shake the stiffness of another gruelling day on horseback from his limbs.</p><p>The memory was fresh and clear in his mind even a fortnight and a half later, of John Segundus walking him to the gates of Starecross, huddled into his coat, sniffing and coughing and grousing at the thick frost that covered the morning ground.</p><p>“I do love the north,” he had said, digging in his pocket for his handkerchief as Childermass mounted Brewer, “but I’m afraid its winters have never quite accepted me as a native.” </p><p>Childermass had chuckled at the way Segundus had underlined this statement by blowing his nose, before smiling wryly up at him to bid him goodbye and wish him a safe journey, his breath leaving his mouth in little puffs of white. </p><p>There was a knock on the door. </p><p>“Any time you want to be woken tomorrow, sir? I meant to ask, but you were gone so quick.” </p><p>Childermass opened the door a crack to see the innkeeper standing outside, peering at him. </p><p>“An hour before dawn.” He doubted he would sleep that long. “I must travel on at first light.” </p><p>“Aye, I’ll have the girl give your door a knock on her way down, then.” </p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>He did not sleep. He lay down on the bed to stretch out his back, and in the vain hope that it would help his thoughts stop spinning. On the bedside table, beside the lonely candle, lay his cards, face down, the light of the flame dancing with the shadows across the weathered, aged back of the topmost card. </p><p>His clothes, cold and wet, he had spread over the single chair that was the only other piece of furniture in the room. They would not dry, and he shivered at the thought of getting back into them in only a few hours.</p><p>The candle on the bedside table flickered. He had perhaps an hour left before it went out, and he would be in total darkness. There was no fireplace in the small room, but the wall by the bed was warm, and Childermass thought the chimney must be going up just behind it. The narrow bed creaked under the shift of his weight as he pulled the covers higher. </p><p>This room, little more than a broom closet, was a far cry from the comfort of Starecross, where he had fallen asleep more nights in the months since Hurtfew had left him behind than he had thought he would ever again wish to spend in a single place. </p><p>It was going to be a school at long last; after every obstacle that had been put in his way, John Segundus had, in the end, won. Since the return of English magic Childermass had watched him as he had worked to give shape to his dream, building it into something solid, something that would, come spring, open its doors for the rest of England to share. Childermass had listened and seen the light of the fireplace dance in Segundus’ eyes as he spoke of it, his cheeks flushed with all the love he held for his vision for the future of English magic, his hands talking along with his mouth and betraying the passion hiding beneath his soft-spokenness. </p><p>In London, when he had made the case of English magic to ministers and members of Parliament and gentlemen and ladies of influence, he had thought of John Segundus and the brightness of his smile, the warmth of his voice, and the paint stains on his fingers when Childermass had walked into the library one evening to find him bent and focused with brush and palette, over a wooden sign Childermass recognised even after years had passed. </p><p><i>Starecross Academy of Magic.</i> </p><p>The candle on the bedside table guttered and died. </p><p>Childermass thought of John Segundus as the night closed in on him. </p><p>John Segundus, who was further away than Childermass could hope to reach in another day, or even two. </p><p>John Segundus, who was hurt. </p><p>Childermass reached for the Cards of Marseilles in the dark, turning them over and over between his fingers even though he could not see them. He felt the magic tingling at his fingertips as he touched them, and he was certain they were answering his questions even now. </p><p>He did and did not want to know what they said. </p><p>Segundus was suffering. Childermass had seen the shadow of sickness over Starecross Hall, the overwhelming sense of loss that hung over the house. He had felt the black vortex of pain in the curve of the two swords framing the third that cut into the heart of the reading, reversing The Wheel of Fortune, and leaving five cups where there had used to be six, rendering The Page of Cups a Hanged Man.  </p><p>The wall beside the bed grew cooler to the touch as the night ate away at the remaining warmth from the hearth below, and in his small room, Childermass lay with his eyes open. In the darkness above the bed, the corridors and rooms of Starecross took shape, with their high ceilings and tall windows, their wound staircases and shadowy alcoves. </p><p>“This is Starecross?” </p><p>Wonder and intrigue shone bright in Segundus’ eyes as he looked down at the cards on the table between them, and Childermass smiled at the way he didn’t quite dare touch the paper. There was no doubt in his mind that Segundus could feel the magic of the cards as he traced the outline of the four wands, the four swords, and the circle of the sun, his finger hovering in the air above them. </p><p>“What do they mean?” He sounded breathless with awe, and Childermass caught himself smiling, exhilarated by the tender, budding friendship that had been growing between them that had moved him to reveal the secret of his cards at the end of a long day. </p><p>“A new beginning,” Childermass said, indicating the Ace of Pentacles, then the Six of Cups, “but also a return to previous work after… shall we say, a disruption.” Segundus shot him a wry look, and Childermass chuckled, moving on to the Four of Wands. “A place of community and support.” The Four of Swords. “A place of rest and restoration.” The Sun. Childermass felt a sudden surge of pride and satisfaction. “A place of success and happiness.” </p><p>Segundus exhaled very carefully, and Childermass pointed at the last card.</p><p>“The Page of Cups. An idealistic, intuitive and rather stubborn man who follows his dreams.”  </p><p>He watched Segundus’ cheeks darken quite endearingly. </p><p>“<i>Stubborn?</i>  Is that what the cards say?” He laughed breathlessly and glanced briefly up at Childermass before looking back down at the cards, swallowing. “I dare not think of what else they might tell you about a man…”</p><p>“You do know that I would not ask,” Childermass said softly and Segundus looked at him with an expression of disarming openness, a breeze from the open window carrying birdsong and the scent of spring into the library.</p><p>“I know.” He let a moment pass, then glanced at the stack of cards to the side. “So what about the rest of them?” </p><p>Childermass should not have <i>left</i>. </p><p>In the darkness above the bed, the warmth faded from Segundus’ smile, and shadows grew in his eyes, and Childermass remembered how he liked to sit close by the fire even in early September, before the true chill of autumn had reached the moors. How he was quick to catch a cold even in summer, and kept a blanket by his armchair to place over his lap when the hour grew late. Childermass remembered his last evening at Starecross and how, when their discussions had turned spirited, Segundus had gotten his feet tangled in the folds of heavy wool, blushing and frowning in concentration as he untangled himself, as to not lose sight of the argument he had been about to make.  </p><p>Childermass had not thought twice about the cough that had followed Segundus’ laughter. </p><p>  <i>Its winters have never been kind to me.</i></p><p>It was all he could think about now, while the night stretched ever longer out in front of him.</p><p>He did not think he had slept for a single moment when the maid knocked at his door to wake him, an hour before dawn.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*** </p>
</div><p>By mid-day, the snowfall of the morning had turned into sleet.</p><p>Brewer was testy and mulish, and barely drank two gulps when Childermass led him off the road and towards a small brook for a short break. </p><p>“Suit yourself.” </p><p>The water burned icy cold down Childermass’ throat, and he coughed and tucked his refilled flask under his coat in the hope that it would warm in time. His caped greatcoat hung heavy off his shoulders; the night had not been long enough for it to dry, and the morning’s snow had only soaked it further, even before it had turned back into rain. </p><p>The cold water sat unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach, chilling him at his core as he mounted Brewer again, and he did not stop coughing until they were back on the road. </p><p>They were in the north now, and it was snowing thick and heavy again within an hour. </p><p>The ring of a distant church bell reached him as he left behind a short patch of forest, and they were not the first bells he had heard that day. </p><p>It was not a time for weddings. </p><p>He had passed through three villages since breakfast, and could hope for three, perhaps four more hours on the road before the night. </p><p>Kicking Brewer into a trot as they crossed a snow-covered field, he thought of the road ahead. </p><p>He might reach Starecross in two days, if he was lucky and made good use of the light. </p><p>“Come on, there are houses ahead,” he said, when Brewer slowed down after only a dozen yards, head low and snorting irritably, refusing anything faster than a weary trudge. </p><p>By the time he reached the roadside inn five miles past the village ahead, the snow was falling thick and reached up to Brewer’s knees, and Childermass knew he could make it no further in the little remaining daylight. </p><p>He had his dinner brought up into a room that was by far too stately for him, but came cheap on account of his being the only guest. He ate beneath a painting of a garden in springtime to the sound of the recently widowed owner’s children wailing somewhere below for their mother. </p><p>Childermass barely tasted the food as he ate, too hungry to slow down, and too distracted by his cards sitting in the pocket of his greatcoat that he had hung over a chair near the fire, his mind already on the day that would come at the end of the night.</p><p>He had lost several miles to the snow, but he could still make up for them without adding a whole further day to his journey. </p><p>While his thoughts spun away from him, his eyes were fixed on the painting, the flowers and bushes in bloom, some of them well outside their time because of what he could only assume was artistic licence.</p><p>He thought of the Starecross gardens, the scent of the lilac in May, and the roses in July. </p><p>“I suppose,” Segundus grimaced, stepping back and taking a moment to lean on his spade as he considered the juniper shrub that they had moved from its original spot to a new one before it grew too unwieldy to dig up, “that I have simply always been rather poor for a gentleman.” </p><p>Childermass watched as he began to shovel the soil back into the hole, covering the roots of the shrub, and took his own spade to do the same. </p><p>“I never had the money to buy up all the books in England, nor the influence to decide the way and form of modern magic…” Segundus continued, pausing to catch his breath. “I have so often had to depend on other people and their charity. Perhaps that is why.” </p><p>“This school is your way of returning the charity you have received?” Childermass smiled, stepping onto the fresh soil to tamp it down.</p><p>“Yes, I suppose so, in a manner of speaking.” Segundus sounded both thoughtful and bashful as he contemplated their work. “That, and I guess... if ever I were to imagine any kind of legacy for myself, it is only fitting that it should take the shape of other people.” He looked up to meet Childermass’ gaze before turning to look at the house. “I mean to build a school that can outlast me, that will continue to teach magic to people who wish to learn it even after I am gone. Even if nobody remembers who founded it, it will still be something of me that will remain.”  </p><p>Childermass looked at Segundus then, and resolved that English magic could never be permitted to forget about John Segundus, who had spent his life shaping its future. </p><p>On a bright summer evening, against a backdrop of pink sky and golden clouds, a time after John Segundus seemed like a distant future to imagine. </p><p>The last of his dinner gone, Childermass looked once more at his coat, and thought he could almost hear the hushed secrets of his cards. </p><p>They could tell him, if he asked. </p><p>They could tell him about Starecross, and John Segundus, the present and the future. He had promised not to ask, but that had not stopped him when he had received Segundus’s letter. </p><p>What stopped him now, he realised, was that for the first time since he could remember, he would rather not know what awaited him when he reached his destination. </p><p>Two days. </p><p>As he readied himself for bed, the incessant crying of the children ebbed away, and was replaced by the voices of several people singing somewhere below. </p><p>Counting the days since he had left for Starecross, Childermass realised it was Christmas Day.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div><p>Snow was spilling into his collar, and he cursed at the shocking cold of it, even though his face had felt numb for the better part of the day.</p><p>The ground sliding out under him, it took him several attempts to scramble back to his feet, knee-deep in snow and half swallowed by a thicket of frozen brambles. Beating and shaking the snow out of his coat, he gasped when he pulled a broken branch out from his sleeve that might well have speared him when he had fallen and skidded down into the thorns. Flinging it away in a wide arch, he winced at the pain in his shoulder and arm and cursed again when he saw the specks of blood and dirt on his shirt cuff where thorns had pierced his skin. </p><p>He would be at Starecross at nightfall.</p><p>The wind blew a gust of snow at his face, and Childermass reeled and, shielding his face, turned to look for Brewer, who was a couple of feet behind him, visibly irritated by the storm, his head high as he backed away in the direction they had come. The path – it was barely even a path – was rocky and steep, and the reins dragged in the snow, dangerously close to getting tangled in the horse’s legs.</p><p>“Come on,” Childermass said, doing his best to put calm in his voice as he grabbed the reins again and pulled Brewer forwards. “There’s a steady lad–”</p><p>His voice was hoarse and his throat raw from the cold, and he lost his grip on the reins as coughs shook through his body, sending a starburst of pain through the shoulder he had landed on. Brewer was dancing on the spot, flashing the white of his eyes, and whining at a high pitch.</p><p>“We can’t go back,” Childermass said, stepping up to the horse, reins in one hand, the other on the bridle. “Come on, on we go!”</p><p>Yielding reluctantly, Brewer lumbered forward and upward, one step, two, three, four, and the ground was uneven enough that Childermass beside him was certain he was going to fall again, when Brewer whinnied loudly and dug his hooves into the ground. Almost falling over a large rock that suddenly appeared out of the sea of white around them, Childermass bit back a scream of frustration.</p><p>They would be at Starecross at nightfall.</p><p>They were almost there; once they were at the top they only had to cross the moor, and then–</p><p>Looking back, he realised they were barely a third of the way up the slope.</p><p>“Move!” he growled at Brewer, throwing his weight into pushing and pulling the horse onward. “This way, come on!”</p><p>Turning around was not an option. They had come too far, and trying to pick their way back down was out of the question.</p><p>Brewer whinnied and knocked his head into him in protest, and Childermass felt his breath leave him as he held on for balance, snow slipping out from under his feet, the wind tearing eagerly at his hair as his hat went flying into the storm.</p><p>“No…!” </p><p>They had to get to Starecross.</p><p>They could not give up when they were so close.</p><p>Childermass spotted his hat caught in the brambles perhaps ten feet ahead. Letting go of Brewer, he scrambled for it. </p><p>He would get to Starecross; he would… </p><p>Wiping the snow out of his hat, he gritted his teeth as he pressed it back onto his head, closing his eyes and gasping for a moment at the shock of wet and cold, feeling as though the snow was seeping through this skull, filling his head, his mouth, his vision, with ice. </p><p>Brewer was skittish and dancing away from him as he approached, twice evading his grasp and neighing agitatedly. </p><p>“We can’t stay here,” Childermass snarled, his voice a cracked rasp, fingers stiff inside his gloves as they grabbed for a hold on Brewer’s bridle. “We have got to move, you stupid, stubborn lump!”</p><p>They could not stay out there, in the middle of a snowstorm without shelter after a week of travel.</p><p>They needed to get to Starecross, so Childermass could...</p><p>So he could… </p><p>At the back of his neck, snow was trickling from his hair, melting into the collar of his shirt. </p><p>So he could…</p><p>The reins slipped from his fingers as the thought finally, terrible and inevitable crashed through his grim, unbending resolve and whatever strength he had left to hold himself together by. </p><p>...so he could what?</p><p>The question had been with him, always travelling just a step behind him on the road, snapping at his heels and speeding him on. </p><p>He had made it this far; he was so close. </p><p>And here it had caught up with him at least. </p><p>Even if he reached Starecross, even if he had reached Starecross a week ago… what was there that he could do?</p><p>“Please.” His voice was little more than a croak, and he weakly took a hold of Brewer and pressed his face into his neck. “Please, I can’t…”</p><p>He was not a doctor. He could not cure the sick, or heal a broken body, he could not...</p><p>He barely felt the cold when his knees hit the snow, the aching frost had crept into his bones already days ago, and he had ceased to notice it, had put it from his mind along with everything else that might slow him down, or break his determination.</p><p>Like the gnawing fear that he might come too late.</p><p>Like the looming terror that even if he did not, he was not able to reverse the course of fate.</p><p>There was nothing he could do.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>His feet were numb with cold, and he stumbled when he swung himself out of the saddle and landed hard on the frozen ground.<p>“Where is he?” </p><p>“Mr Childermass!” the housekeeper startled and jumped back as Childermass came storming through the front door, teeth gritted against the pain that jolted through his shoulder at every step. “Why, we did not expect you back so soon…!” </p><p>“Mr Segundus,” Childermass forced out, shoving his hat at the footman. “Where is he?” </p><p>“Oh, Mr… Mr Segundus? Of course!” The housekeeper was quick to collect her bearings. “Why, he’ll be in the rose parlour. He said he felt much better today, so he–” </p><p>Childermass took two steps at a time as he hurried up the stairs and strode down the corridor to the rose parlour, a small, cosy little room a little out of the way. It had a large fireplace, and was one of the warmer rooms in the old house. Segundus liked to sit there in the evenings, and they had on several occasions sat there together, to pore over an article Segundus was writing, debate the relative merits and dangers of keeping the hawthorn in the back corner of the garden, or, when neither of them felt quite inclined to work anymore, to play several games of draughts or <i>The Mansion of Happiness</i>. </p><p>He did not think to knock or break his stride and burst into the little room with Segundus’ name on his lips. The three men sitting around the table jumped to their feet in surprise. </p><p>Childermass froze. </p><p>“Mr Childermass.” </p><p>There he was, John Segundus, looking pale and flushed all at once, staring at Childermass as though he were an apparition. </p><p>“You… you have returned.” There was something shaky in his voice, and he appeared to steady himself with one hand on the back of his chair. “I am sorry, if… were we to... expect you?” </p><p>“I came because you are unwell.” </p><p>“Oh?” Segundus paled visibly, then frowned as though to distract from it. He glanced at Honeyfoot, then looked back at Childermass. “Did I… did I mention I was ill? It was only a cold! It was barely worth noting…” </p><p>“No.” Childermass shook his head as he slammed his cards down on the table, fixing Segundus with his eyes. “That was not it.” </p><p>“I… Mr Childermass–” </p><p>Next to Segundus, Mr Honeyfoot and a rather handsome young man with curly, dark hair appeared not to know quite where to look. When Childermass said nothing, and Segundus seemed equally at a loss, it was Mr Honeyfoot who took pity on all of them. </p><p>“Well, I daresay we have everything we need, wouldn’t you say, Tom? Shall we take ourselves off to the library and get a head start on our list?” He picked up the piece of paper he had been writing on and gestured at Segundus and Childermass. “And Mr Segundus will join us when he is finished here.” </p><p>They left with Segundus’ mumbled thanks, and closed the door behind them. </p><p>“It…” The heat of the parlour made the skin of Childermass’ face prickle. “It is not merely a  cold.” </p><p>“Childermass, I am clearly in perfectly good health,” Segundus said placatingly, spreading his arms out as though to emphasise the fact. </p><p>“No, no!” Childermass shook his head and stepped closer. “You are <i>hurting</i>.” </p><p>Segundus’ eyes widened, and he took a step back, one hand curling against his chest.</p><p>It was as good as an admission, and Childermass swallowed down on the knot in his throat.</p><p>“You are in pain. I saw it.” </p><p>“What? I…” Segundus took a shuddering breath, and something in his stance shifted. His gaze that had been wide and open, became stern. “I cannot believe you… you would use your cards to pry into my private–I thought we had agreed–you <i>promised</i>…!” </p><p>“I am right,” Childermass’ own voice sounded hollow to his ears, and the pain in his shoulder and arm suddenly returned to his conscious mind. “You know exactly what I am talking about.” </p><p>“It is none of your concern!” Segundus stood frozen on the spot, struggling to meet Childermass’ gaze, until a sudden cough overtook him and he turned away until it was quite done. For a second he looked like he might say something, but he only exhaled a careful breath.  </p><p>Childermass watched the thin, fine lines at the corner of Segundus’ eye twitch minutely. </p><p>“Are we not friends?” he asked into the silence, very quietly, though his lungs felt so tight, he wanted to scream. “Have we not… have I not become your friend?” </p><p>“We have. You are, I...” Segundus’ hand tightened into a fist before he let it drop to his side. The firelight reflected off the top button of his waistcoat. “I am not ill, Childermass. It is nothing but a cold. As my friend, please, believe me–” </p><p>Segundus’ expression faltered. Suddenly in need of something to hold on to for balance as his vision tilted dangerously, Childermass took a step towards the nearest chair. </p><p>“Childermass,” Segundus’ voice was alarmed, “are <i>you</i> in pain?” </p><p>“No, it is nothing,” Childermass tried to wave him off before collapsing onto the chair with a groan, exhaustion deep in his bones and pain alive and bright in his shoulder and arm, his head pounding. “You needn’t–” </p><p>He did not get to finish the sentence and tell Segundus what exactly he needn’t do, for a rattling cough cut off his words as it shook out of him, his ribs aching with the convulsion, his bruised shoulder white with pain. Segundus was already calling for Mrs Keats and Charles, his eyes fixed on the blood that had begun to trickle warm down the back of Childermass’ hand. </p><p>“It is no more than a scratch; I–” Childermass protested while Segundus and Charles peeled his greatcoat and coat off of him for Charles to take away to dry, and Mrs Keats went calling to the maid for hot water and bandages. </p><p>“You are black and blue,” Segundus said, horrified, sitting on a chair beside Childermass and pushing back his torn shirtsleeve to inspect the damage. He glared. “Did you take a fall off of Brewer on the way?” </p><p>“I did not!” Overwhelmed with the speed at which things were happening all around him, Childermass realised he felt significantly more defensive than he ought to, and he could tell that this had not escaped Segundus’ notice, either. Hissing at the burn of the water on his raw skin as Segundus began to wipe at the dirt, he grumbled, “I led him up a shortcut up onto the moor. I lost my footing.” </p><p>Segundus squeezed the water out of the washcloth with some force and shook his head. </p><p>“In this weather? Childermass, I did not have you down as someone needlessly reckless!” </p><p>“Reckless? I was–” Childermass winced when Segundus had to apply pressure to clean the last of the dirt out of the wound. “My cards have never lied to me. I thought…”</p><p>“There, that is better,” Segundus mumbled, dropping the cloth into the bowl of hot water beside him. Childermass closed his eyes and sagged against the backrest of his chair.</p><p>“...well, it seems it does not matter now what I thought.” </p><p>Segundus sighed and contemplated Childermass’ arm for a moment before reaching for the poultice that the housekeeper had left with them. A soothing scent of herbs laced with something sharp rose from the pot as soon as he removed the lid. </p><p>“I am not dying, Childermass,” Segundus said this very softly, the barest tremor in his voice as his fingers spread the salve across the cut. It took all of Childermass’ strength not to shiver under the touch. His eyes wandered from Segundus’ nimble fingers up to the line of his brow, knit in concentration and a tension he could not quite put a name to as he continued quietly, “but I believe I would be in… in very much pain indeed if you were to hurt yourself out of disregard for your own safety, out on your travels, and so very far from Starecross.” </p><p>He met Childermass’ eye for a long heartbeat that was over altogether too quickly, too quickly for Childermass’, who was reeling as he watched his entire world rearrange himself before his eyes, in the blink of an eye and the soft shadow cast by the curl of Segundus’ lashes.</p><p>His heart was hammering behind his ribs, and Childermass swallowed, his throat hoarse and dry. He yearned for something to drink. </p><p>He had travelled for a week, he had… </p><p>He had not even thought twice about why.</p><p>“Childermass?” There was a hint of anguish in Segundus’ voice, and Childermass looked down at the hand that touched his arm.</p><p>...he had not quite dared to ask himself <i>why</i>. </p><p>“You think I have gone mad at last.” He had not meant to sound as distressed as he did. </p><p>“No! I do not, I…” Though Segundus averted his face as he rose to his feet and placed the lid back onto the little salve pot, Childermass could see the blush burning in his cheeks. It was familiar and endearing, and something in Childermass’ stomach fluttered as Segundus looked down at him with a mixture of ardent conviction and anxious worry. “I would never think such a thing. You have... proven yourself just the kind-hearted man I know you to be. I truly could not wish for a better friend.” </p><p>“Well,” Childermass huffed, and now it was him who could not hold Segundus’ gaze. He shook his head, realising he did not know what to say next, frantically searching for words, any words at all. “You–” </p><p>The blessed return of Mrs Keats kept him from having to find a way of finishing the sentence. </p><p>“Pardon the interruption.” She nodded at Segundus, then at Childermass. “Mr Childermass, sir, your room’s been readied. There’s a large fire and a warm bath for you, sir, and Cook is heating up leftovers from dinner. Charles will bring them up as soon as you’ve settled in.” </p><p>“Thank you kindly, Mrs Keats.” Childermass was already heaving himself out of his chair, and had to bite back a groan when his limbs and joints protested, the exhaustion of the last several days now inevitably settling in. He turned to look at Segundus, but could not quite meet his eye. “I suppose I best do as I am told.” </p><p>Segundus nodded. “Yes. Of course. I… I should be getting to the library. Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Levy will be waiting.” </p><p>“Yes. Apologies for keeping you.” Childermass dragged himself to the door. </p><p>He was almost up the first flight of stairs when he realised he had left his cards behind. Weighing the effort it would take to go back against the importance of retrieving them right away – he would not need them now, would he? –, he had already made up his mind to leave them until the next day, when his feet turned him around and led him back to the door of the rose parlour. </p><p>He had not closed it as he had left, expecting Segundus to follow after him any minute later. </p><p>The more he was surprised when he approached the room to find Segundus was still inside. </p><p>One hand on the handle, Childermass was about to make his apologies, when the sound of a quiet whimper stilled him. </p><p>Segundus stood facing away from the door, and, tilting his head just so, Childermass could see his shoulders shake as he inhaled deep gulps of breath that broke on their way out. He was heaving terrible, soundless sobs that came out as choked gasps, as though he tried with all his might to keep them inside. </p><p>Childermass stood just outside the door and felt his own heart break. </p><p>His fingers itched against the polished wood of the door, itched with everything he wished he could do, wished he had the power to do. </p><p>There was nothing he could do. </p><p>When Segundus took several deep breaths and it seemed as though he had won whichever battle it was that he had been fighting, Childermass moved quietly away from the door, disappearing back into the shadows. There he waited until Segundus’ steps had faded in the direction of the library, and from there he snuck back into the rose parlour to fetch his cards. </p><p>He found them scattered across the table where he had left them in a stack before.</p>
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  <p>*** </p>
</div><p>Childermass’ pocket watch had stopped just after one o’clock. He had been asleep when it happened, after being wrestled back into bed by Charles and Mrs Keats when he had woken in the morning shivering, with a sore throat and a sheen in his eye that Mrs Keats pronouncedly mistrusted. The fact that he had been too exhausted to give much by way of argument was all she required to feel justified in her decision, and she had barely left the room when he had slipped back into sleep.</p><p>When he had woken again, his head had felt clearer, and he had left the bed to use the chamberpot and cast a look out the window onto a bright, crisp day, and moors buried under snow as far as the eye could see. </p><p>Since then, Vinculus had dropped by, curious and apprehensive, caring in his customary, offensive way as he emptied the bottle of port that had come with dinner the night before. </p><p>Mr Honeyfoot had come to sit by his bed and had brought tea, and told him all about his morning stint in the library with Mr Levy, who was a frightfully quick study, and very eager to become a tutor at Mr Segundus’ school. </p><p>Charles had brought Childermass’ clothes, washed, dried and mended, and some clear soup – fortifying, Mrs Keats had declared – that Childermass drank in long, greedy gulps while outside, the clear, cold day darkened, almost imperceptibly at first, until it was night all at once, and the wind began to rattle harder at the window and howl with unbridled ferocity across the dark moors. </p><p>Childermass had not, at any point that day, seen hide nor hair of Mr Segundus. </p><p>This was, as Childermass had learned from Mr Honeyfoot, because Segundus had left Starecross before breakfast to walk to the village of W⸺ on the other side of the moor, where he proclaimed to have urgent business that he had put off too long due to inclement weather. </p><p>When, or whether Segundus had returned, Childermass had not been told and did not know. </p><p>It might have felt like a mercy but for the fact that Childermass had not been able to think of a single thing other than John Segundus. </p><p>He had sat down at the table by the window that he liked to use as a desk when he wrote letters in his room early in the morning, and had stared out at the darkening gardens, at the mountains of snow underneath which Segundus’ shrubs and bushes waited for the return of spring. </p><p>The moon was bright in the sky, casting the skeletal trees outside into an eerie, ghostly glow, and Childermass’ eyes were caught by the intricate lines of the frost pattern that was growing in a corner of the window, like lacy flower petals across the glass. He thought of the fine laughter lines that appeared around Segundus’ eyes when he smiled.  </p><p>There was a soft knock, and the door opened slowly. </p><p>“Oh, I–” Segundus’ eyes darted from the empty bed to where Childermass rose from his chair to stand. “I did not realise you were up. Mrs Keats said– I thought…” </p><p>He carried an air of winter about him, the tip of his nose and cheeks flushed with cold, his hair flattened from wearing his hat, his eyes bright. </p><p>“I meant to come down for dinner,” Childermass replied, and indeed he had, “but Mrs Keats decided to send mine up before I got the chance.” </p><p>“I see. I apologise that I did not come to see you sooner; I was… I had business in–”</p><p>“Yes, Mr Honeyfoot was so kind as to let me know.” </p><p>“Yes. I was... distressed to hear you had been taken ill because of...” Segundus squirmed into the room, closing the door behind himself, but not approaching further. “You are feeling better, then?” </p><p>“I am, yes. I was thinking…” Feeling his heart beating in his throat, Childermass made a light coughing sound. “I thought perhaps I ought to go and see Brewer. He was not best pleased with me when we arrived, I’m afraid…” </p><p>“I believe Charles has given instruction that Brewer be treated to every imaginable comfort after you journeyed through such weather. I expect the ostler has put him up to his belly in hay.” </p><p>“That... is good. I will have to thank him.” Childermass could feel the conversation between them dry up as the crackling of the fireplace grew louder. “I trust your journey to W⸺ went well?” </p><p>Segundus looked as though he was about to answer, when Childermass caught his gaze as it darted to the cards that lay in a neat stack on the table, between a book Childermass had attempted to focus on and the empty bottle of port, and he closed his mouth again, shoulders tensing. </p><p>Suddenly feeling the presence of everything he had said the previous night – and left unsaid –, Childermass had no doubt, none at all, that Segundus had used his visit to W⸺ as an excuse to be away from Starecross at best. To be away from Childermass. </p><p>“I have not been spying on you,” he said quietly, and Segundus looked at him with some reluctance. “In your letter you said that Honeyfoot and Levy were delayed, and that the house was cold. You sounded lonely, and I resented having left when I did, so I consulted the cards to see whether all was well again at Starecross.” </p><p>Segundus nodded thoughtfully as he contemplated this. When he spoke, Childermass did not expect his question. </p><p>“What was it you saw?” </p><p>“I…” Childermass found himself caught off guard by the sudden intensity in Segundus’ eyes as he stepped further into the room and stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest. “What do you mean?” </p><p>Segundus shrugged a little awkwardly, and nodded at the table. </p><p>“Your cards. What was it they told you that made you think…” His voice ran dry and he coughed once, twice, then cleared his throat and looked at Childermass expectantly, with only the barest hint of apprehension. “I would like to know.” </p><p>Childermass thought of the swords, and the scythe that marked the end of an era. </p><p>“I saw loss and grief at the heart of Starecross. There was… sickness, like an inkspill on a page.” He paused. “It was you. I saw that you were in great pain.” </p><p>“So you came back? ” Segundus looked for a moment as though he was about to laugh, or cry, or possibly cough again, and Childermass felt ridiculous and self-conscious all of a sudden, exhausted still from a journey he had undertaken without a second thought because the fear of losing John Segundus was too unbearable to contemplate, to the point where it had never once occurred to Childermass in quite such terms that he was in love with him. </p><p>He was in love with John Segundus. </p><p>He had been in love with John Segundus for months. </p><p>“Show me.” </p><p>Segundus said it so quietly, Childermass thought for a moment that he had heard wrong, but his voice had not wavered, and he approached the table to sit down on the second chair that was not, as it tended to be at other times, buried under Childermass’ discarded clothing and bag. </p><p>Sitting down opposite him, Childermass felt a rush of anxiety as he reached for the Cards of Marseilles and it occurred to him that they held not only Segundus’ secrets, but his own as well, and had perhaps held this one for longer than Childermass had realised. </p><p>He laid six cards out on the table, and slowly turned over The Sun in reverse. </p><p>It was not until he reached the fourth card that Segundus made a choked sound. Childermass stilled his hand and looked up to see his face void of colour. </p><p>“Is this what I am now?” </p><p>“The Hanged Man,” Childermass said, clearing his throat when his voice failed him. “It means–” </p><p>“You told me,” Segundus replied, forcing a smile onto his face. “I remember this one.” </p><p>His eyes moved to the cards preceding it, to the suffering of the Three of Swords, the grief and self-pity of the Five of Cups. Childermass waited for a moment, in case there was anything more Segundus wished to say, or ask. </p><p>He turned over The Wheel of Fortune in reverse. </p><p>“You have been trying to control it, but you cannot,” Childermass said. </p><p>“No,” Segundus agreed, with barely a whisper. Childermass could feel his own chest constricting at the resignation in his voice. “I cannot.” </p><p>Childermass thought in that moment that he might bargain his life away to a fairy if it meant he could restore John Segundus to happiness, if he could undo whatever irrevocable change had brought about his pain. </p><p>He reached for the final card. </p><p>Segundus’ hand came down in a movement too swift and instinctive, it should have been impossible. His palm was pressed flat against the table, his fingers covering the card and Childermass’ hand, pinning both down. </p><p>“Don’t.” </p><p>Segundus’ eyes were closed, something like pain worrying his brow. He looked harrowingly breakable. </p><p>“Do you not wish to know?” Childermass asked softly, swallowing around the knot in his throat, and Segundus let out a choked laugh and opened his eyes. </p><p>“I know which card it is.” </p><p>Childermass thought of the cards scattered across the table in the rose parlour, and it began to dawn on him that this reading would not have the same outcome as his last.  </p><p>“But you would rather I did not.” </p><p>Segundus’ fingers pressed down hard on the table. </p><p>“I wish you did,” he whispered. His eyes were wide and bright. “And I also wish that you had never known of it. I...” </p><p>His eyes darted down, to where Childermass’ hand had pulled free and covered Segundus’. He looked up to meet Childermass’ gaze, his mouth forming almost inaudible words.</p><p>“Why did you come back?” </p><p>Tightening his hold on Segundus’ hand, Childermass rose out of his chair and kissed him. </p><p>He had never before thought about kissing Segundus. </p><p>It was pure impulse, surprising even himself. Had he had the time to fully form the idea before acting on it, he may never have dared to do it. </p><p>He did not expect the desperate ferocity with which Segundus returned the kiss. </p><p>He had not imagined it would be… </p><p>He had imagined...</p><p>He… </p><p>Perhaps he had thought about kissing Segundus before.</p><p>A moan escaped his throat when Segundus buried a hand in his hair and sought to pull him closer, blindly pushing at and slipping around the table that separated them. His body was lithe and pliant in Childermass’ arms and his tongue left a taste of sugared tea on Childermass’ lips when they parted, and– </p><p>“I…” Childermass was grasping for words, and when he found none, touched his forehead to Segundus’, drowning for a moment in the soft sound of his calming breaths. “I had to come back. You were hurting, and I could not...”</p><p>Segundus cocked his head to look up at him with an expression of quiet marvel and endless tenderness, one hand brushing a loose strand of hair back from his face, fingertips brushing along his cheekbone. </p><p>“When you walked in, I was certain I must be dreaming.” He let his fingers trail across Childermass’ brow, down the length of his nose, touching them softly to his lips. “I thought… for a moment, I thought I had manifested you.”</p><p>“If I had known…” Childermass trailed off, bashful and unnerved to be the focus of such close attention, to be caressed with such affection, affection that bordered on reverence. He was not used to being treated as something so precious to hold, or behold, and the fact that Segundus did with such unguarded fondness, and melted into his arms with such devastating familiarity, was almost too much to bear.  </p><p>“I so longed to tell you,” Segundus said, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly as he spoke into the crook of Childermass’ neck. “I was going to, I thought, but you were always called away again, and I was afraid you would never come back.” </p><p>His breath trembled against the tender skin just below Childermass’ ear. </p><p>“Every time I watched you leave, and I had not told you, my heart broke.” </p><p>Childermass stilled, then glanced at the cards, and the last, unturned one that Segundus had not wanted him to see. As they had stood, it had been swept to the floor, where its crooked face of black ink strokes was revealed at last, a wand in his hand instead of a scythe. </p><p>“Your heart?” </p><p>Childermass could see the light of the fireplace reflected in Segundus’ eyes as he looked up from The Magician at their feet with an expression too open and bare, tightening his grip where his hands were fisted into the fabric of Childermass’ shirtsleeves. </p><p>“It is not the kind of pain a man would die from, but… I grieved all the same,” Segundus mumbled, and Childermass leaned in again to kiss the faint worry of shame from the line of his mouth. </p><p>“Any pain that was in my power to take from you,” he whispered against Segundus’ parted lips, “I would.” </p><p>“You have been,” Segundus breathed, moaning as they swayed, and gasping in surprise when his back met one of the bedposts and their bodies pressed flush together. </p><p>“I would do it gladly,” Childermass groaned when he felt the light touch of teeth as Segundus mouthed along the line of his jaw, dipping lower. “I wish to return to you... many... many times yet.” </p><p>Segundus’ lips were a deep red colour in the low, flickering light of the fireplace, one of his hands toying with a strand of hair that had slipped from Childermass’ queue, the thumb of his other drawing lazy circles just above his lowest rib. Arching into the touch and losing himself in the heady feeling of the moment, of Segundus’ body flush against his own, Childermass leaned in for another, hungry kiss.</p><p>“The door is not locked,” Segundus gasped when their lips parted again and Childermass’ hands had begun roaming of their own.</p><p>“Oh…” Slightly out of breath and dizzy with want, Childermass cast a glance at the door. “Should we–?” </p><p>Lock it, he had meant to say, but was cut off abruptly and violently by the sneeze that tore through his body, and he turned to the side just in time to cover his face with his hand. A second sneeze followed, and a third on its heels, and by the time Childermass straightened up and began to pat his pockets for a handkerchief, he felt light-headed and faintly dazed. </p><p>“You,” Segundus said, and he sounded too amused for Childermass not to glower at him as he blew and wiped his nose, “are in no shape to lock this door.” </p><p>“I am well enough,” Childermass replied, and even to his own ears it sounded petulant and sulky. Segundus stepped up to him and ran both hands up Childermass’ chest, a private, secret smile tugging at his lips.</p><p>“Oh believe me, you are not...” </p><p>The polite restraint in his voice stole whatever protest had sat there right off Childermass’ tongue and left in its place only a shuddering breath. </p><p>“Is that a promise?”</p><p>“I…” Segundus blushed, though his hands, Childermass noticed, appeared somewhat less embarrassed by the forwardness of his words than his eyes as they pretended to straighten the collar of Childermass’ shirt. “I am sorry if that was too–”</p><p>“John,” Childermass interrupted softly, and Segundus sighed and met his gaze. </p><p>“I thought of you every day,” he said, drawing in a trembling breath. “I… let myself imagine that you would return and…” </p><p>“And…?” </p><p>“And…” Segundus huffed a laugh, then grinned rather wickedly, and only a little flustered, “...and you are <i>not</i> well enough for this door to be locked, John Childermass.” </p><p>He kissed him with a firm tenderness, his hand cupping the back of Childermass’ head, before stepping back and allowing for the altogether different warmth from the fireplace to fill the space between their bodies. </p><p>“We have time,” Segundus said softly, and there was a strange, wistful tone of wonder in his voice. “Do we not?” </p><p>“We do,” Childermass agreed, feeling his chest fill with a lightness as he began to understand that it was true. After over a week of running out of time, the notion was intoxicating. “We do.” </p><p>For a moment they both stood and beheld each other, smiling stupidly and besottedly to themselves, until their quiet bliss was disturbed by a grim, insistent rumbling from Segundus’ stomach. </p><p>It was Childermass’ turn to laugh, and Segundus’ turn to squirm. </p><p>“Have you eaten at all today?” </p><p>“I had an early breakfast, but spent the rest of the day wandering the moors...” Segundus muttered, shifting his stance and grimacing when it resulted in yet another rumble. “I suppose I should go and ask Cook for some late dinner to be brought to the library. I must also find Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Levy; I have not seen them since my return and they will have worked their way through...” </p><p>He stopped rambling when Childermass stepped up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. </p><p>“We have time,” he said, nudging Segundus’ nose with his own. “Go and eat. I... I will join you in the library in a little while...” He paused, thinking of Honeyfoot and Levy. “... that is, if you’ll have me.” </p><p>“Mh,” Segundus smiled and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Childermass’ lips. “Why yes, my love. I think I will have you.”</p>
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